Battle Scars
by Sansetto
Summary: England sees the scars on America's body. Rated for safety on the language. I also added a line and I hope it explains the part where England passes out better.


**Battle Scars**

"God damn it!" cried England, dashing through the forest and breaking though the branches and brush, that scratched his body in various places. "I hate you America!"

The mentioned nation ran alongside England, carrying a gun in his hands. His forehead and brow had thick rivers of sweat running down them and harsh pants were expelled from his mouth. "England, this isn't the time!" he gritted out.

"This is the _perfect_ time! You always get us into trouble at every bloody turn!"

"England!"

England watched as America tossed his gun away and tackled him to the ground. An image of brown rain was the last thing to settle in his mind's eye, before everything went black.

England awoke to the sight of the ground moving under him and him riding on America's back. The British country could feel America tremble with each step. He was suddenly deeply worried for his friend's health.

"You git," growled England. "Put me down!"

America looked back and grinned, before following England's request. "I'm glad to see you're alright," he replied. "Especially after you hit your head on that rock when I tackled you away from that grenade."

England didn't miss how America's body was shaking from the strain of just standing. They seemed to have escaped the surprise attack from Germany. So taking the peaceful moment, England led America down a path.

"I know this part of the woods," he explained. "My house isn't too far away and we should be able to rest."

America laughed, but it was weak and England didn't miss that note. "I don't need to rest! I'm America! I can beat anything that stands in my way!"

England rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small fond smile that stretched across his lips. "You bloody git, you're practically quivering like a chihuahua."

America made a noise, as if denying it.

"Here we are," announced England. "Get inside and I'll patch you up." America strode in, and collapsed into one of the nearby chairs. He let out a content sigh and closed his eyes. "Don't fall asleep just yet."

America cracked on eye open and saw England standing with a first aid kit in his hands. "Aw," he whined. "I hate medicine."

England scoffed. "Just like a child. Now strip off your jacket and shirt, so I can have a look."

America did as he was told and tossed his clothing to the side. England gasped when he saw America's left bicep bleeding horribly. He quickly wiped the blood and inspected it. To his horror, a bullet was embedded inside. He glared up at America, who only smiled in response.

"I didn't want you to worry," he said softly.

"Stupid git," England muttered under his breath. "Of course I would worry!" He grabbed a pair of tweezers and gently used them to grip the bullet. "We have to look out for each other."

America hissed as England pulled the wedged bullet free. Fresh blood gushed from the wound and England hurriedly applied pressure to the wound. Moving quickly, with one hand, he prepared a needle for stitching. He removed the pressure and poked the needle through America's skin. The nation winced, as the slight pinching continued, as England sewed him up.

"All done," announced England, gathering his medical supplies. "I want you to go lay down on the couch and I'll make you something to eat." America made a face and England swatted him. "Do that again and I'll make sure to purposely make it bad."

America chuckled tiredly as he pushed himself up. As he bent over to pick up his clothes, England noticed the glint of light over his body. Some parts of America's skin were different in color. More like a moonlight color than the slight tan that America bore. It only took a few second for it to click.

"America?"

The nation turned to England, surprised to hear his name called so softly. "Hm?"

"When did you get all those scars?"

America looked at his body and smiled sadly. "When I fought to protect my country and friends," he replied. "Let me tell you when I got them." He pointed to the newly stitched wound. "Let's go backwards. This one is from this war."

His hand trailed to a scar on his right bicep. "World War I."

_He was once so young..._

His hand moved to a scar on his hip. "The Spanish-American War. A knife did this one."

_I remember caring for him..._

He moved his hand to a scar that traveled vertically down his right side. "The Western Indian Wars. A spear."

_Not the other way around..._

He pointed to two scars. One ran horizontally to the top of his jeans and the other ran horizontally across his chest. "The Civil War. I thought for sure I was going to die."

_Why had I not noticed?_

He trailed his hand to a scar just below his jaw line. "The Mexican Wars."

_Why had I not noticed how old he had grown?_

He pointed to a scar identical to the one on his right side, except it was on his left side. "The Eastern Indian Wars. Same as the Western Indian Wars."

_Why can't I see that childish face anymore?_

He touched a scar on his wrist. "The War of 1812... Thought I would have lost my hand in that one."

_Where is that young kid I knew?_

He breathed a deep breath and grabbed England's hand. "And last but not least..." England watched as America directed England's hand to trace down a scar that cut from his left shoulder to his right hip. It cut right across his heart. "The Revolutionary War," whispered America. "The most memorable one on me."

_Where had all those years gone...?_

England felt tears gather in his eyes and he rested his forehead against his friend's chest. The warm water ran tracks down his cheeks. He always forgot just how grown up America really was. Behind the smiles and energetic personality, there was a dark history, with many battles. Like everyone else. England himself had contributed to those scars and felt himself become washed over by guilt. He himself had many scars, but seeing them on someone else was a whole new perspective.

"Do you ever wish you didn't have those?" England asked, his voice cracking slightly.

America shrugged. "No. They might not have been the best of times, but they're still memories. I wouldn't trade them in for anything." England found himself being pulled into a tight embrace. "I know you still think of me as a young kid, but I've had my share of battles as well. I won't die easily."

England smiled. "You better hold that promise, git."

America smiled and looked at his friend. "I never break a promise. I will forever stand tall, proud, and free."


End file.
